A Party For Molly
by mryddinwilt
Summary: Why does Sherlock insult Molly at the Christmas party? My take on why they had the party and what exactly was Sherlock thinking. Heavy Sherlolly. Switching POVs throughout. Set during A Scandal in Belgravia. My first fanfic so please read and review!
1. Chapter 1: Party Planning (Sherlock POV)

John is insisting on having a Christmas party. I have resisted for weeks. I deduced that the scheme was concocted to make his latest female companion happy. Females seem to enjoy a good party. Then he intentionally mentioned the idea in front of Mrs. Hudson. She, predictably, loved the concept and began pushing with John. I continue to hold out. He was accosting me, yet again, at St. Barts while we waited for Molly to bring some lab results back.

"Really John. I don't know why you even need me at your little get together. You and Miss Hudson can use the flat and I will arrange to be away. It's really no trouble."

"I don't see why you can't suffer through a few hours of holiday cheer. It won't kill you." John sounded exasperated.

"I do not see why you are so keen that I should subject myself to this "holiday cheer" as you call it. I detest unproductive socializing and, as you well know, I am not at all good at it." John attempted to speak but I was not finished. "I will be bored and insult everyone." I stared hard at John. Willing his slow brain to understand that my attendance at this party would have disastrous affects.

"Yes Sherlock. I am well aware that you will never be the life of the party. But what if we only invite people that are used to being insulted by you? Than the expectations will be very low." John smirks at his little joke. He enjoys my lack of social skills because it is one of the few ways he is superior to me. I pull a face to let him know that I didn't find him the least bit funny. I was about to fire back when Molly arrived with the test results.

I glance over her and my mind runs through its usual deductive exercise.

Hair and make-up: neat but a bit overdone. Eyes, slightly red and puffy but carefully concealed. She cried a great deal last night and perhaps a little this morning. Why? Nails show signs of nervous biting. She is upset about something. Shoes and clothes are more stylish than usual; possible lunch date. Someone new, possibly a first date since I have not observed any previous date attire. Of course it has been a few weeks since I last saw her so it could have been going on for awhile. Why must she continue to date unsuitable men? Because of course this new man will be unworthy of Molly, they always are. Her low self-esteem, kind heart, and obvious need to be loved make her an easy target for the Moriartys of the world. Men who use her and leave her. Men not interested or able to give her what she wants and deserves. Is that why she has been crying? Is it over some man? Suddenly she smiles, a transformative smile that seems to indicate that she is laughing at a secret joke. I glance at John but he is staring vacantly. So she must be laughing at me. What is so funny?

"Here are your results." She hands me the file as she approaches, her face suddenly businesslike. "As you can see there is an abnormally high concentration of sodium."

"Hmmm" The riddle of Molly Hooper is abandoned as my current case consumes my thoughts. I get completely absorbed in deciphering the lab results and their impact on the case. Vaguely aware that John has struck up an inane conversation with Molly. He is so very good at useless conversation.

Ten minutes pass and I have solved the case; a disappointingly easy deduction. I sigh, it was so promising. John and Molly are still talking. I guess they have lots of opportunities to talk when I disappear in my mind palace. What do they talk about?

"There is no point being with someone that makes you unhappy. Life is too short. Trust me I know." Molly looks so sincere and earnest placing her hand on his arm and giving him a light squeeze. John must have been unloading his girlfriend problems. He probably hasn't even noticed that Molly is upset. Even from across the room I can see a slight glisten in her eyes. More tears? What is going on? Is she with someone that makes her unhappy? I scrape the stool back as I stand, startling them both.

"Finished John. We can stop inflicting Molly with our company."

"I don't mind, I…" Molly begins in her whisper soft voice. I don't want to hear her fake protest. She obviously wants to be alone.

"Nonsense Molly I am sure John was boring you to tears." Did she get the clue? Does she understand that I have seen, that I know something is wrong? She is reasonably intelligent but I can tell she has not understood.

"Sherlock, not everyone finds interaction with other human beings a punishment." John sounds indignant. "In fact I bet Molly would jump at a chance to attend a Christmas party"

"Oh I love Christmas parties!" Molly's entire face lights up and her hands flutter in excitement. She looks truly happy for the first time in, well, months. How have I not noticed how unhappy and sad she has become? Because I am self-absorbed and overly concerned with my cases and the mystery of Ms. Irene Adler. But even with those distractions the great Sherlock Holmes should have noticed. Should of noticed that his friend (is Molly my friend?) was sad.

"Yes John. You have made it perfectly clear that "normal" people love parties." I give him an exaggerated scowl. John throws up his hands in mock surrender and turns to get his coat.

"Molly, John is attempting to coerce me into throwing a Christmas party at our flat." I explain.

"Oh. I is too bad. A party would have been fun." Her flash of happiness is gone. The flat look back in her eyes. Somehow I want her happiness back.

"Molly" I lower my voice and lean closer as I speak, not wanting John to hear. "If we had a party would it make you happy?"

She flushes. "Well, um, ya. I love Christmas and…It would be fun." she takes a deep breath. When I don't speak she continues rapidly "But don't have one on my account. I mean I am not worth planning a whole party over. If you don't want…" She would have said more but I abruptly cut her off.

"Molly I always do exactly what I want. You know that." Or she should know that after our many years together. Even if we rarely see each other outside of the lab or never talk about personal matters like her and John.

"Oh yes I am well aware." She smiles, her laughing smile from before. So she is laughing at me. What is so funny? And why am I suddenly angry? I need space. I need to be away from that smile and all the questions surrounding it.

"Come John." I grab my coat and sweep out of the room. Leaving John behind to say goodbye.

As we clip down the hall, I hear Molly Hooper laughing. My anger seeps away and I inexplicably find myself thinking a Christmas party might not be such a bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2: Laughing Again (Molly POV)

It has been a rough year.

It started off great with a promotion but quickly fell apart when Dad got sick. Then I had to get involved with "Jim from IT". I know he is a criminal mastermind and used me to get to Sherlock. But he was funny. He listened to me and held me when I cried. Plus he is a great snog. Much better than Phillip and his sloppy kissing. Which isn't why me and Phillip broke up. I was willing to put up with his drowning-in-spit technique. Lets be honest I put up with just about anything from guys. But Phillip thought that my devotion and kindness meant he could sleep with Lucy in Radiology. What a wanker. The worst of it is that even after I found out I was still willing to forgive him. I am such a door mat.

Then Dad got worse. He was so brave and he tried so hard to stay positive. Such a kind and loving man. It has only been three months since I buried him. It is no wonder that I spend almost every night crying my eyes out and self-medicating with bad telly and ice cream. I have become an expert at hiding my red eyes. The few people that I talk to at work haven't seemed to notice.

"Hey Molls. What pulls you up from Siberia?" Grant, the lab tech, smiles over his microscope as I enter. He loves to call the morgue Siberia because it is cold and no one wants to go there. Which used to make me feel like an outcast but these days being alone suits me just fine.

"Just collecting that lab work I sent up yesterday." I smile weakly.

"Oh ya. I will just grab it for you. Is this for one of your autopsies or…" He trailed off, clearly fishing for information.

"Its for a missing persons case Sherlock Holmes is working on." I try to sound nonchalant when I say his name. I know people are curious about Sherlock and his cases. His family connections and money allow him to use the hospital for his detective work but he rarely ventures beyond the morgue. I used to think that was because he enjoyed my company but I realize now he just likes the quiet.

"Hmm." Grant nods knowingly "Guess he can't pick up his own labs?"

"Well not when Dr. Brown is working." We both giggle a little over the thought of our burly, six-foot-three, hospital administrator coming face to face with the man that destroyed his Sherlock, so engrossed with being the smartest person in the room, he didn't realize that he had revealed Dr. Brown's wife as a cheater-in front of the entire staff. Needless to say Sherlock is forced to keep a low profile these days. A situation I think he prefers. He gets to have me fetch everything for him and has no need to deal with anyone but plain, quiet, door mat, Molly.

I haven't seen Sherlock in weeks and in my present mood I don't know if I even care. I still have a huge school girl crush on him, I don't think that will ever change. But lately when he comes to the lab I feel nothing but a sense of loss. We are never going to be a couple. I will never get to find out if those perfect bow lips are better than Jim's. I used to fancy that he cared for me. That claiming that Jim was gay was his jealousy talking. I thought that there might be some small part of him that preferred my company to other people. But my Dad's death, and Sherlock's complete ignorance of such a life changing event made me admit the hard truth. That I am nothing more than his lab tech. Sherlock only comes around when he needs something. His notice of me extends only as far as his need for me. It is a hard truth but he doesn't think of me he thinks only of himself or his case. Which is why I have decided to be indifferent and to move on. Hopefully my lunch date with Rupert will help with that.

I enter the elevator and distract myself from brooding by looking at the lab results. Sherlock won't care to hear my analysis but I like to know what he is talking about when he gets excited. My face is still buried in the file when I arrive at the morgue. Through the door I can hear the low rumble of voices. Probably John and Sherlock arguing, again. I push open the door and look across the room at the two men. One tall and dark, the other short and fair; an unlikely pair. John is a good man and a good influence on Sherlock. Like me he is one of the few people that doesn't seem to mind the rougher aspects of Sherlocks personality. Like what he is does as I cross the room.

Sherlock's dark eyes are wide and darting all over my body. He is "deducing" me, looking for clues in my clothes, hair, make-up, walk and who knows what else. It is a bit like being under a laser, a devastatingly handsome laser. The first time Sherlock "deduced" me I thought he was hitting on me. I was at a coffee shop on a rare break. He came up to me and stood there-looking. I just stared back at this gorgeous man and thought that I had fallen into a romantic comedy. Love at first sight and all that. Then he opened his mouth.

"I see that you spend a lot of time with dead bodies." I was too caught up in my fairy tale and the wonderful rich tones of his voice to register what he had said. When I did understand I was confused.

"Er, um, yes."

"At St. Barts." It wasn't a question.

"Well yes. I work in the morgue." He cut me off.

"Yes, Molly we already established that. May I sit?" He seemed irritated and sat before I could form a sentence.

"How did you?"

"Know your name? It's on your coffee cup. Now I would like to propose a working arrangement." And before I even knew his name I was a little in love with him. He was brilliant and handsome and I was flattered that he had picked me. At first whenever he would stare at me like that I would fancy he was in love with me. But I long figured out that Sherlock's "deducing" look is done almost subconsciously and usually results in unflattering or rude remarks.

I look at his furrowed eyebrows and realize that Sherlock is puzzled. Something about me has caused him to pause and actually think. I quickly push down the jumping of my heart and can't help but laugh inside at my own silliness. So much for being indifferent and moving on!

"Here are your results." I switch in to work mode and describe the elevated sodium levels. As expected, Sherlock takes the file and wanders away. He won't notice anything until he has figured out his puzzle. My eyes follow him involuntarily before I give myself a shake and turn to John.

"Guess he will be awhile. How are you?" I ask John knowing he will quickly launch into a long story about his latest girl troubles. Whenever we talk it is mostly about his relationships or his sister. John is a great guy but not the best listener.

My Dad was a great listener. Every Sunday he would ring me up and we would talk for hours. Mostly he just listened to my stories of work and love. Then he would offer sage advice or just commiserate with me. I loved those talks. They got fewer and fewer as he grew sicker. I felt bad unloading my problems when he was in the middle of a struggle with death. But even then he would listen. Pat his bed and make me sit down and talk until we were both exhausted.

God I miss him.

What I wouldn't give to be able to tell him about Phillip. To hear him tell me "You are so much better than him Molly. He doesn't deserve such a wonderful and kind person." Tears spring to my eyes and I try to focus back on John to avoid collapsing into a puddle.

John hasn't noticed my lapse in attention. He is yammering about his latest school teacher girlfriend. He certainly has a lot of girlfriends.

"I don't know Molly. Am I being too picky? It just doesn't feel right with Jeanette." He looks at me expectantly for advice.

"Look I don't know much but I do know that if you aren't in love with her then you need to break it off. There is no point being with someone that makes you unhappy. Life is too short. Trust me I know." John nods and I hope that the conversation is over so I can go have a good cry. Suddenly a stool scrapes the floor.

"Finished John. We can stop inflicting Molly with our company." Sherlock speaks imperiously and for once I don't mind his bossiness. Still John would feel bad if he thought I wasn't interested.

"I don't mind. I…" Sherlock cuts me off before I can make a proper protest.

"Nonsense Molly I am sure John was boring you to tears." Sherlock emphasizes tears and for a split second I wonder if he has noticed. If he knows after all about my Dad and Phillip and my ice cream binges. He is a great detective after all. But I brush the thought away. Sherlock doesn't care about people, only about puzzles. John is talking

"I bet Molly would jump at a chance to attend a Christmas party." I can't help it. I practically squeal in delight

"Oh I love Christmas parties!" I have been dreading the holidays and at a loss what to do with my free time. So a party, any party would be grand. Something to look forward too. Something to buy a dress for and an excuse to buy some Christmas presents.

But Sherlock is obviously not thrilled about the idea of a party. Scowling at John while throwing him an insult about normal people. He turns to me.

"Molly. John is attempting to coerce me into throwing a Christmas party at our flat." It suddenly makes sense. I have never been to 221B Baker Street but I doubt it is a place where Sherlock does a lot of entertaining. He is not the type of man to suffer fools and a party is, after all, a fools gathering.

"Oh. I see. That is too bad. A party would have been fun." My holiday is once again empty and desolate. Then Sherlock is stepping nearer and leaning close to me. I shiver involuntarily.

"Molly. If we had a party would it make you happy?" His voice is low and seems to thrum through my bones. I flush, unsure how to respond.

"Well, um, ya. I love Christmas and…It would be fun." I take a deep breath trying to clear my senses. Why is he so close? Why does it matter if the party would make me happy? Is he mocking me? Pretending to flirt in order to get something from me (he has done it before)? He obviously doesn't want a party. Maybe he wants me to refuse a party so he can use it in his argument with John. Either way I suddenly don't want to be at a party with the unknowable Sherlock Holmes.

"But don't have one on my account. I mean I am not worth planning a whole party over. If you don't want…" He cuts me off. Typical.

"Molly I always do exactly what I want. You know that." He says with an adorable smile. My knees buckle slightly. And I want to laugh because I should have known that my happiness would never factor in to that funny head of his. He isn't cruel, he is a man, caught up in himself; like John, like Phillip.

"Oh yes I am well aware." I contain my laughter. I want to say more, to be witty and clever for him. But I don't play with words and so I just smile.

Sherlock's mood shifts, his eyes darken, and suddenly he is out the door. Leaving John mumbling a goodbye.

I expect to cry when they leave but instead I laugh at myself and the impossible Sherlock Holmes. It is my first real laugh in 4 months and it feels great.


	3. Chapter 3: Bored (Sherlock POV)

****************************************Author's Notes*****************************************************

Thanks everyone for the views, reviews, and favorites! This is my first time publishing and it really is quite a rush to have such immediate feedback! I need to figure out how to respond to reviews because you all have been so kind! I would love to hear any more of your thoughts (good, bad, or indifferent). Especially would like to hear from any U.K. readers on getting British slang /wording right.

This isn't the party, yet. I felt there needed to be an additional scene first. Molly's POV should be up in a few days. Happy reading!

Bored.

So Bored.

How do other people live their lives without succumbing to mind-numbing boredom?

No new interesting cases, no exciting experiments to conduct, and no new information on Irene Adler. After Mycroft ordered me (in his best big brother voice) to "stay out of this" I, of course, looked further into "the woman". I want to get to the bottom of what is coming and the contents of Ms. Adler's phone. Not just to annoy my brother but also because it promises to be very interesting. Anything would be better than boredom. I jump up from the sofa and pace. Then, just as quickly sit back down. I do this eight times before it occurs to me to leave the flat. When the cabbie asks me where too "St. Bartholomew Hospital" comes out before I can think. Once the cab is pulling away it makes all the sense in the world. Molly might have something interesting for me. As I think of the young woman suddenly the riddle of a week ago comes rushing back.

Molly was sad. Molly was laughing at me. Molly wanted to attend a Christmas Party. I ticked off the facts in my head, realizing that I was no closer to understanding the reasons behind them. Simultaneously I also realize that the case of Molly Hooper had been at the back of my mind all week. Why have I not figured it out? Surely it can't be that complicated. A few observations and questions will soon unravel the string and then I can move on, get back to being…bored.

I pause outside the morgue door. Listening to what sounds like laughter. High, female laughter. Not Molly's, her laugh tends to be short and breathy. This laugh is full and uninhibited. Molly must have a female friend visiting. The low rumble of male laughter makes me correct my deduction. Two visitors, who are, apparently, breathing in formaldehyde fumes.

I push through the doors and see Molly and a male lab tech, their backs to me, shoulders shaking with laughter. I scan the room looking for the third person only to discover my error. It was Molly's laugh. I have never heard Molly laugh like that. Nor have I ever seen her touch a man in such a friendly way. She was grabbing his shoulder as she laughed and saying:

"Oh stop. I can't, I can't take it."

"You just should have been there!" the man responded

Shaking her head Molly turns and sees me. Her surprise is evident and her smile quickly vanishes.

"Sh..Sherlock." she glances at the lab tech "uh…what are you doing here?" While she speaks I confirm my deductions from last week. Molly is still trying to conceal her crying, is again dressed for a date, but this time she is wearing lipstick, a lot of lipstick. As a rule Molly doesn't wear lipstick, especially not the bright shade she is wearing today. I can only remember seeing her wear lipstick on one other occasion. It accentuated her small mouth rather nicely. A fact I made sure to call to her attention. I always assumed her lack of lipstick indicated she was not serious about attracting the opposite sex. However, her uncharacteristic behavior toward this man and her current attire and make-up may signal a change in her attitudes.

I must have missed part of the conversation because the man is talking to me and Molly has a quirky smile on her face.

"What?" I interrupt. A little frustrated that I haven't followed the exchange. The man begins to respond but Molly shakes her head and replies for him.

"I said, this is Grant. He works upstairs."

"Yes Molly. Thank you for stating the obvious." The man sticks out his hand and delivers a firm handshake.

"We've met before actually." Grant's eyes dart to Molly.

"Yes. Well, I will see you at lunch." Molly grabs Grant by the arm and hurriedly steers him towards the door.

"Yeah. Till then." and he is gone.

Molly pauses with her back to me and then turns around asking briskly

"What do you need?" I pause for a moment, taking in the change. Her lipstick is gone.

"I don't need anything Molly. Just thought I would stop by for a chat."

"Why?" she sounds suspicious.

"Just bored."

"Well I don't really have time to entertain you right now." She walks over to the lab table.

"Really? Because you seemed to have plenty of time for the lab-tech." I point out.

"His name is Grant and well that's different. He is my friend." Molly says matter-of-fact.

"And we aren't friends?" I ask, really curious to know the answer.

Bent at the microscope Molly responds off-handed "I wouldn't say we were friends."

"Well how would you categorize our relationship?"

"Uh…colleagues?"

"Hmmmm…." My lack of response draws Molly's attention.

"Look Sherlock. We don't talk about anything but work. Friends talk about other things, real life things."

"Such as?" I am fishing. Hoping to find a clue to her tears.

"Oh I don't know. Weekend plans, family annoyances, dating, books, movies, work problems. That kind of stuff."

"I'll take family annoyances for 300 Alex." I smile at my joke. Molly stares at me, genuinely confused.

"You want to talk about family?"

"Sure. Why not?" I shrug and Molly does the same, confusion still written across her face.

"How is your brother?"

"Dreadful as ever."

"Um.. okay. You spending the holidays together?"

"Heavens no. Why would we do that? Mycroft is not really the sentimental type. As he likes to say "sentiment is a defect of the losing side." Besides I make it a point to never spend more time with him than necessary."

"Oh. How sad."

"Not really. I don't understand why people insist on being with family for Christmas. Being genetically associated doesn't mean you have to like each other. John is going away to his sisters and I have expressed to him what an inconvenience it will be. What if I should need him?"

"I expect most people spend the holidays with their family. Because of love or...or... sentiment as you say." Molly sounds a bit emotional. So family might be the key, perhaps I should push harder.

"They shouldn't. Life would be much easier. Look at Lestrade. He loves his wife. That emotion clouds his judgement and he continues to overlook her many indiscretions. John's sister is an unrepentant alcholic and yet he continues to dote on her. They allow a simple chemical process to manipulate them. As a result they do not act rationally. "

"You can't help how you feel! Love isn't rational Sherlock." Molly says placing her hands on her hips.

"Exactly why it must be avoided. " I turn and look at her, sensing a challenge. Instead I see her lower lip quivering and her eyes glistening slightly.

"Ok" It comes out light and small as she turns away to look at her lab work. She looks deflated.

Excellent, I have struck a nerve. Either love or family or perhaps love of family is the source of her sadness. Since she appears to be dating and looking rather chummy with the lab tech her love life wouldn't be the source. If she had been jilted she would be shunning male company. Since she seems to be seeking it out she must be missing a male companion. Not a brother, she doesn't have any, at least not according to her personnel file. Father then, she has lost her father. I grab my phone and do a quick search of obituaries in the last few months. In a few moments I am scanning the life of George Hooper, loving father, survived by two siblings and daughter. Molly is missing her father, they were close and so she is seeking a younger male substitute. Her earlier eagerness to attend the Christmas party would stem from a desire not to be alone on the holiday. Mystery solved.

Except none of that explains the lipstick.

"Molly. What happened to the lipstick?"

"What?" She is now across the room, must have moved while I was thinking. I walk towards her enunciating my words slowly.

"You were wearing lipstick. When the lab tech left you removed it."

"Um…"

"You never wear lipstick Molly. Did you wear it just for him? Is it for your lunch date later?"

"Why do you think….nevermind. Look Sherlock you don't have to know the answer to everything."

"Does it make you uncomfortable talking about your appearance? It shouldn't. You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing that the right clothes and makeup couldn't fix." I say it sincerely because I think Molly could look much prettier with the right amount of effort.

"Thanks. But I wasn't, I mean… I don't need your opinion. I do just fine with guys. Really." She finishes the sentence by once again burying her reddening face in paperwork.

"Of course you do. I have observed…But, don't do too good. Wouldn't want to lose you Molly."

And I really mean it. Molly is the only person at St. Barts that I can stand to be around for any period of time. That administrative chap seems to hate me, probably over his wife, though I was doing him a favor. If Molly were to fall in love and get married she would probably take time off for a honeymoon. Then of course she would want children, she is the type, and the next thing you know she would quit her job. Where would that leave me? No things are much better with Molly Hooper being single. To that end, it is probably best if I make sure she is actively engaged over the holiday. Christmas is notorious for lonely people finding love (or at least that "Love Actually" movie John and his girlfriend were watching last night would lead you to believe). Looks like John is getting his Christmas wish after all.

"Do you have plans for Christmas Eve?" I ask

"Well sort of." Worse than I thought. I was right to intervene.

"Well cancel them. You are coming to 221B Baker for our party. I will text you details."

"Sounds great!" she is obviously excited and seems to forget the lab work. I find that I am also pleased with my quick thinking and deductions.

Now to tell John that we are having a party.


	4. Chapter 4: Lipstick (Molly POV)

************************Author's Notes*******************************

So here is Molly's take on the party invitation. I did it a bit different and kind of quickly so hopefully it works. Let me know your thoughts in the reviews. Stay tuned because all that's left is the party! Then I will need a new plot bunny!

*************************Author's Notes********************************

"Dashing through the snow….mmh…mmmhhh…mmmm."

I half sing, half-hum as I wander through Marks & Spencer. I love Christmas music, the tunes are upbeat and bright or beautiful and slow. It is one of the best parts of the season. If I was in my flat I would be singing along at the top of my lungs. Since I am in a crowded store looking for gifts, I am trying to contain myself. Still, bits of the tunes keep tumbling out. I can't help it. I am so very happy.

I keep telling myself that my exuberance has nothing to do with the party at 221B Baker Street. That I am only happy because it is Christmas. I am only happy because it is my day off. I am only happy because I am Christmas shopping for my friends. But in the back of my mind a little voice keeps shouting "he likes you! he likes you! Sherlock Holmes likes you!" The voice has been yelling non-stop since Monday, when Sherlock walked out of the morgue with that smug smile on his face. I smile at the memory.

He showed up out of nowhere. No specimen to examine, no labs to perform, no body to experiment on, no real reason to be there. But there he was, his curls more askew than normal, like he had been running his hand through his hair all day. His coat collar turned up against the cold and his cheeks and eyes bright from the chill. Devastatingly handsome and completely unconscious of how self-conscious he makes me feel.

Grant was there, entertaining me with stories from last years hospital Christmas party. Sherlock seemed annoyed at Grant's presence. At first I thought he remembered that Grant had fouled up the labs on a case a few months back. Sherlock had gone up to the lab and verbally assaulted him. The whole experience had really shaken the lab teck. I remember Grant telling me:

"I don't know how you work with him Molls. You must be a saint." I had reassured him and reminded him that Sherlock never yelled at me.

"Never? I don't believe it." Grant was incredulous. I just laughed, Grant always makes me laugh.

"He needs me too much. He can't risk pissing me off because, well, who else would work with him?" And we laughed and changed subjects. But I remember, later, it wasn't so funny. Later, I realized that the only time I saw Sherlock was when he needed something. I think that was when I started to see Sherlock as he is, instead of who I wanted him to be. I think that is when I started trying to "cure" myself of my school girl crush. Course things have changed now. Sherlock came to the morgue to "chat", complimented me, and invited me to a party. Now that is progress!

I wander over to the accessories. M&S sometimes has really nice earrings and today I am in luck. I reach for a pair of hoops and chuckle again at poor Grant.

The lab tech was sweating from the moment he saw Sherlock. He jumped into an apology only to be interrupted by an imperious

"What?" from Sherlock. That "What?" fell like a slap on poor Grant. Luckily I understood what was going on, Sherlock hadn't heard a word of what Grant had said. He was in his head, thinking, and oblivious to everyone else. I took a chance and pretended to introduce Grant. My bet paid off, Sherlock didn't remember Grant and even forgot his name after he left, referring to him as "lab tech". It helped that I rushed Grant out pretty quick.

When Grant left, I expected Sherlock to hand me some evidence or ask for a favor; but he wanted to chat. I used to always try to engage Sherlock in conversation. I would make a joke (he never laughed) or try and comment on the case. He always made it clear that he was not interested in idle chit-chat. Eventually I stopped trying, limiting our conversations to the bare minimum and trying not to make a fool out of myself. Given my prior experience, I thought he was joking with me and tried to brush him off. But then he was suddenly asking if we were friends and asking me to "categorize our relationship". I wanted to say: "we don't have a relationship. Unless you count me fancying and fantasizing about you ever since we met." Wisely I stuck with a neutral "colleagues"

Thinking about it now, I wonder if my answer made Sherlock unhappy. I wonder if he considers us friends, on some level. I can't imagine he has a lot of people he trusts or spends time with. From talking with John it would seem that Sherlock is practically a monk, living only for his work. From our brief chat I don't think he even spends time with his brother. Which is really quite sad when you think about it. In fact, Sherlock seems to have some pretty dismal views on love and relationships. I pause. I had forgotten that part of the conversation. The part where Sherlock talked about the defects of love and sentiment. It suddenly comes flooding back.

"They allow a simple chemical process to manipulate them. As a result they do not act rationally." He had said with his pompous, superior, tone.

"You can't help how you feel! Love isn't rational Sherlock." I had responded in anger. Frustrated that he had drawn me into a conversation only to rant about Mycroft, John and Greg. Annoyed at his lack of understanding and sympathy. But mostly angry that he had a family and I didn't and he didn't even care about his.

"Exactly why it must be avoided." That was his response, that love should be avoided. Why would he say something like that? Does he truly believe that love is a weakness? Was he trying to tell me that he won't let himself fall in love or get sentimental?

"Everything okay?" I look up. Startled by the shop girl.

"Oh yes, fine." I say. I catch my face in the mirror and realize I must have been frowning. "Just thinking…do you..uh…think these would go good with a black dress?"

"Yes. Very lovely." she enthused. I smile and thank her before walking away. Still troubled by unanswered questions I wander past the make-up counter.

"Would you like to try our new lipsticks? 18-hour wear and kissably soft lips!" The smile is back on my face. I decide to forget about Sherlock's troubling remarks and focus on the rest of the conversation.

I can see him striding across the room, a look of ridiculous concentration on his face, his voice deep and powerful.

"You were wearing lipstick. When the lab tech left you removed it." I didn't know what to say. I had hoped Sherlock hadn't noticed the lipstick, but who was I kidding, that man notices everything.

He continued. "You never wear lipstick Molly."

It was a statement of fact. Yep, Sherlock definitely notices everything. It's true that ever since my disastrous attempt to ask Sherlock on a coffee date I had been very careful not to wear lipstick around him. I don't usually wear a lot of makeup, unless I have a date or a work function, so it wasn't a big adjustment. Still it was frightening to think that he paid attention to those things.

Then he asked if I wore the lipstick for Grant (still forgetting his name) and implying that I was dating him. Somehow his presumptions rubbed me the wrong way. So what if I wore make-up for a date with Grant? Even if I was really wearing it for a mandatory work luncheon, that Grant was also attending. It wasn't really Sherlock's business was it? So I avoided the question and tried not to sound angry.

Then, out of nowhere, he complimented me! Well the closest thing to a compliment I have ever heard from Sherlock. Coming from any other person it would sound like an insult. But he told me my appearance was "nothing to be ashamed of, nothing the right clothes and makeup couldn't fix". A few months ago that statement would have been enough to keep me happy for weeks. But right then, in the moment, I was so frustrated. I felt insulted. As if Sherlock was trying to give me dating tips or something, the nerve! So I told him

"I do just fine with guys." I tried to make that the end of the conversation. But Sherlock wasn't done and I am happy he kept talking

"But, don't do too good. Wouldn't want to lose you Molly." He said it with a voice stripped of command and arrogance. It sounded honest. Much more honest than his grand words about the stupidity of love. I just stared at him. Unable to really process his last sentence. What was he saying? I didn't have time to figure it out because he was suddenly asking

"Do you have plans for Christmas Eve?

I did have plans. I was supposed to work. But I didn't want to sound desperate so I was vague.

"Well sort of." But Sherlock cut me off.

"Well cancel them. You are coming to 221B Baker for our party. I will text you details." It wasn't even an invitation. It was a command. I had no choice, and I didn't mind one bit. I tried hard not squeal or turn into a puddle of hormones.

"Sounds great!" I grinned like an idiot. It's not fair the affect that man has on me! Not fair that I have spent the last few months trying to move on, only to have him suck me back in with one glorious conversation. A conversation that practically proves that, despite his protests, Sherlock has feelings for me. Perhaps not love, but something is there, something is going on. And this Christmas party is the perfect opportunity to figure it out.

"This shade really looks lovely on you!" the make-up counter assistant has tried on several colors but seems in raptures over this one. It's probably the most expensive.

"You think so? It is really red. A bit va-va-voom, for me." The shade is a bright red and definitely calls attention to my mouth.

"Well if you want a man to kiss your lips, he needs to notice them first!" she is joking but I can't help but think of Sherlock and his observational skills. I am sure he will notice this lipstick.

"I'll take it." I smile and ridiculously I think of Sherlock and mistletoe.


	5. Chapter5:An Unexpected Party (Molly POV)

# # # # # # # # # # # #Author's Notes# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Sorry for the long delay! The holidays really became a time suck this year! I wanted it all to be up before Christmas but I guess beter late than never! As always let me know what you think in the reviews!

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The ride in the cab seems never-ending . I awkwardly pull at my dress. It suddenly feels too short and too low. I avoid looking at my reflection in the window. When I left my flat, amongst oohs and aahhs from my flatmates, I felt beautiful. But now, in the cab, practically on Baker Street, I have begun to feel foolish and awkward. The make-up and everything is problem with wearing little make-up everyday is that when you wear a lot you feel a bit like a prostitute.

I clutch at my bags of presents. Sherlock didn't mention if there would be a gift exchange but I didn't want to show up empty handed. Well, really I found the perfect gift for Sherlock and realized that it might be weird if I only brought one for him. So I found some nice, neutral, presents for everyone else.

I pick up the present and look at the note attached, it is the fourth version. The first was a simple To: Sherlock From: Molly. But that seemed impersonal and after all our talk of being friends and his compliments I wanted to convey something more. So I tried To Sherlock, Love Molly but that sounded awkward. So "To" became "dearest" and was then promptly ripped up. It was later that night after several drinks that I penned "Sherlock, I love you." That note lasted until the morning when I came to my senses. I crumpled it up and decided not to put any inscription because of course he would know it was from me when I handed it to him. Later that day I was seized by the idea that the card was the perfect opportunity to clue Sherlock into my feelings without saying it out loud Thus the final note was penned.

"Dearest Sherlock, Love Molly xxx" the kisses were added just before leaving the flat in a fit of boldness that I was now regretting but it was too late to change it because we are pulling up at 221B Baker St.

As I climb out of the cab I feel suddenly giddy and excited. The street is covered in a blanket of white and in the glow of the Christmas lights it is lovely. This is going to be an eventful night, the night things change. I follow the instructions on the door to "come up". I see the rectangle of light from the open door and hear the low rumble of Sherlock's voice and my knees become jelly.

I close my eyes and pump myself up "You look awesome. Your gift is perfect. Sherlock complimented you and asked you personally. He doesn't want you dating other men. NOW is the night to make something happen, now or never. "

As I walk in I try and cover my insecurities with a giant smile and a hearty hello. I am sure it comes out awkward. Involuntarily my eyes sweep towards Sherlock. He is holding his violin, his profile framed by the window. He doesn't look at me. I look away but I desperately want to see his face. To read in his eyes what he thinks of my dress and lipstick. Everyone else is turned toward me with smiles and words of welcome.

John, the gentleman, takes my coat and I can't help but smile at his hilarious Christmas jumper. Jphn is such a good guy. His jaw drops and a "Holy Mary" escapes his lips. Yep definitely a nice guy. I hear Greg utter a "Wow" and Mrs. Hudson gives me an appreciative smile. I suddenly feel beautiful again. I look at Sherlock, as I ask "Everyone having their Christmas drinkies then?"

But he is putting away his violin and then sits down at the computer saying

"No stopping them apparently." He gives me a quick glance, no deducing, no interest. I can't help it, my heart sinks a little bit. I keep my attention on Sherlock hoping for a conversation or even a look. Nothing.

Just then John motions me to a chair by Sherlock. I want to move closer but Sherlock engages John in conversation and Greg taps me on the shoulder

"You want a drink Molly?" So the moment is lost. I remind myself that the night is young and there will be lots of opportunity to be noticed or to talk. So I keep up my smile and try out some of my conversation starters.

"How's the hip?" I ask Mrs. Hudson

"Oh it's atrocious but thanks for asking"

"I've seen much worse. But then I do postmortems." I say it with a smile. I mean it as a joke. The silence is almost deafening and I realize that this isn't really the audience or occasion for morgue humor. Gosh I need to get out of the house more.

"Oh God, … " I stutter trying to recover.

"Don't make jokes Molly." Sherlock turns away from the computer for an instant to save me or humiliate me, I can't figure out which. Why does he have to be paying attention now?

"No. Sorry." I smile through the awkwardness. Greg saves me by arriving with my drink. Greg is a good bloke. Too bad is wife is always cheating on him. Which reminds me:

"Thank you. I wasn't expecting to see you. Thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas." I am hoping the fact that Greg is here means he and his wife are mending fences. Not enough for Greg to get her to Baker Street, but that is n't surprising since she loathes Sherlock. But that is only because he can always tell when she is cheating.

"That's first thing in the morning. Me and the wife, back together, it's all sorted." Greg says with a broad smile. Before I can congratulate him Sherlock's voice floats from the computer.

"No she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher." Greg's face falls. Poor guy. I turn to John and roll out a conversation starter, attempting to give Greg time to recover.

"And John I hear you're off to your sisters? Is that right?" as I speak it occurs to me that Sherlock isn't really interested in the computer at all, that he is listening to every word I say. So I add; "Sherlock was complaining." and look at him. He doesn't turn but his eyebrows raise and I met his eyes briefly, triumphantly.

"Just saying." I murmur.

"First time ever she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." John says with a half-hearted raise of his bottle.

"Nope!" Sherlock says emphatically but still staring at the screen.

"Shut-up Sherlock." John fires back. It strikes me that Sherlock is being a bit, well, awful. Maybe its just my wounded pride but we are at his party and he is just sitting at that blasted computer and making snide remarks. I can feel my hopes for the evening begin to crash around me.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend Molly, and you're serious about him." Sherlock turns away from the computer, and gives me a tight smile. Now he is looking at me, now he is talking to me, but the topic of conversation is ludicrous.

"What? Sorry What?" Is all I can get out.

"In fact you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." I don't like his tone. It isn't friendly, it is almost mean. How on earth has Sherlock decided I have a boyfriend? Is this about Grant?

John and Greg come to my rescue. John by muttering a snarky "Take a day off." And Greg by trying to give Sherlock a drink. But the great detective is undeterred.

"Oh come on surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag. Perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slap-dash at best." My heart stops. He is talking about his present. He thinks his present is for my boyfriend…shit. A small gasp escapes me as I glance nervously at the present. When I look back, Sherlock is out of his seat and walking towards me and the bag of presents. My heart is pounding furiously. I want to grab the present and hide it. But I am frozen.

"It's for someone special then." He says as he approaches and reaches for the gift. I am hoping that his little deductive display is over but he continues, again with that mean undercurrent in his voice.

"Shade of red echoes the lipstick, either an unconscious association or one she's deliberately trying to encourage." he grips the present as he talks and smiles a knowing smile. I turn away. I don't know where to look.

"Either way Ms. Hooper has love on her mind." He turns away from me and begins talking to the rest of the room which is sitting in stunned silence.

"The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him the gift at all. Though it would suggest long term angst and over forlorn." I feel exposed. All that time spent trying to get Sherlock to notice how much I like him. All those months trying to bury those feelings. The secrets of my heart are being casually exposed by the person who inspired them. I want him to stop, to develop sudden laryngitis but he just keeps talking. And worse as he speaks he fumbles the card open.

"That she's seeing him tonight is evidenced by her make-up and what's she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts-sss" His tirade becomes a hiss when he sees my handwriting. But not before the final insult. I feel like Cinderella after the clock struck midnight, her dress turned to rags her perfect evening shattered, at least Cinderella got her Prince in the end.

The whole room seems to hold its breath as Sherlock looks at the card. I want to laugh or cry at the hope I felt when I wrote those words. Mostly I want to get back at Sherlock, to make him feel as fragile and exposed as I do. But I am rubbish at words and would loose any verbal contest. Instead I say the truth.

"You always say such horrible things. Everytime. Always." I shake my head in disbelieve because I can't believe it has taken me this long to tell Sherlock this simple fact.

He looks confused and flustered. He turns to walk away, and then turns back taking a deep breath. I expect a rebuttal, Sherlock always gets the last word. I expect him to claim that he speaks the truth and that being truthful is kinder. Instead he does the most shocking thing.

"I am sorry. Forgive me." He sounds sincere and sad. I look up cautiously and I can see all his bravado is gone, it's his turn to be honest. His eyes hold mine for an intense second. He steps closer and leans towards me. His proximity is setting off warning bells all over my body. I become a statue.

"Merry Christmas Molly Hooper." He practically whispers as his face approaches mine. For a spilt second I think he is going to kiss my lips but he chastely pecks my cheek instead. But even that small bit of electric contact leaves me breathless and wanting more.

He pulls away and I hear a low moan fill the air. For a moment I think it is me and I am ridiculously embarrassed. My hand flies to my mouth and I exclaim

"No. That wasn't me. I didn't " But Sherlock cuts me off

"It was me."

"What really?" Greg says what I am thinking. Sherlock moaning erotically over a kiss on the cheek?

"My phone." he spits back. The conversation continues but I zone out. I only notice that Sherlock has set down my gift and picked up another from the mantlepiece. Then he disappears and I gulp down my wine.

Everyone seems to be occupied with wondering what Sherlock is up too. I grab my gift from the computer desk, where Sherlock abandoned it after he got his text. I was going to grab the card so no one else would read it. But the card is no longer attached. I look around but can't spot it anywhere.

"I think he took it love." I glance up at Mrs. Hudson.

"Hmm…what?" I try to fake confusion.

"The card from the gift." Mrs. Hudson doesn't let me off that easy.

"Oh. Right."

"He is a funny duck, hard to read, unlike most men." she smiles conspiratorially.

"Tell me about it." I laughingly reply.

"For what it's worth, I think he really cares for you." Mrs. Hudson smiles encouragingly.

"He has an odd way of showing it." I say with a slight eye roll.

"Ah well, jealously makes us say awful things." She pats my arm and then moves to help John in the kitchen.

Once again I am shocked into silence. Jealous? Why on earth would Sherlock be jealous of me?

I am still contemplating this extraordinary thought when John announces that Sherlock will not be rejoining the party.

"That gift he got, well it has to do with a case, and you know how he is." The room nods in agreement, except for John's girlfriend-she looks bored.

Greg looks at his watch and says "Well I guess I will head out. Want to share a cab Molly?"

"Oh that would be lovely." I reply, happy to prolong the moment when I will be alone, again.

As I walk down the stairs of 221B I can't help but think how unreal my expectations had been. Sherlock is never going to be the kind of guy that snogs under the mistletoe or declares his undying love for you because of an amazing gift. He is the kind of guy that insults and ignores his friends. The kind of guy that says horrible things to you. But he is also the kind of guy that admits his mistake and asks for forgiveness almost immediately and maybe, just maybe, he is the kind of guy that gets jealous of imagined boyfriends.


	6. Ch 6:An Unexpected Riddle (Sherlock POV)

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So here is the thrilling conclusion. Sorry it took so long to get here but hopefully it was worth it! This was my first fan fiction and I had such a great time writing it and receiving feedback from everyone! I really want to improve my writing so let me know your thoughts in the review section!

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"Sherlock. Guests are arriving." John pokes his head into my room to tell me the obvious. He is always doing that.

"By "guest" I assume you mean your latest girlfriend?" I sneer from my post at my mirror.

"Her name is Jennette and you better be polite tonight. It's Christmas."

"Hmmm…" I am bored with the conversation. I couldn't care less about John's girlfriends. He changes them out so frequently I don't even try to keep track. From my mirror I see John roll his eyes before sighing and shutting the door. I turn back to stare at my reflection, wondering how long I can avoid going out to the party.

It was foolish to even have a party. I hate parties. I especially hate parties in my flat. Of course a few hours of social torture is worth it if it keeps Molly from running off with some lab tech. The more I have pondered that possibility the more repugnant it has become. Poor Molly reduced to a limited life of children and drudgery and devotion to some slob. I am sure she would rather be working in the morgue and helping me with cases. No. Molly must stay single no other outcome would be satisfactory.

I hear Lestrade's voice from the entryway and decide that I must make an appearance.

As I step out I am confronted by Mrs. Hudson.

"Well, don't you look posh." she smiles. I dip my head in acknowledgement. "But its a bit dark for Christmas. You know what would look lovely? My reindeer antlers! They will keep you from being too serious."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson but I think they might crush my hair." I know she is just teasing me but the very idea of me wearing novelty reindeer antlers feels absurd.

"Suit yourself. Drink?" I nod and she wanders into the kitchen.

I glance at my watch, Molly is late. John is introducing his girlfriend to Lestrade so I wander over to the window and stare out at the street. willing a cab to deposit Molly at my door. I feel suddenly nervous. What if she decides not to come? What if she didn't get out of her other plans? I review the invitation and the text messages that followed. Molly never actually said she was coming but she didn't say she wasn't coming. I check my watch again.

"Waiting for someone?" Mrs. Hudson approaches with my drink.

"Yes. Molly Hooper. She is late" I reach for the drink.

"Only by a few minutes." Mrs. Hudson seems amused.

"Yes. Well" I sip at my drink. Mrs. Hudson just stares at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing. It just occurs to me that Molly is the first woman you have invited here. I mean socially. I don't count anyone from your cases."

"Molly is associated with my cases. She works at St. Barts and I need her." At the word "need" Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows shoot up. I give her a withering look. "For cases. I need her for cases."

"Yes of course, cases." she smiles impishly "Well I am glad she is coming, she is a lovely girl."

Little does she know that Molly barely considers me a friend, let alone a lover. I can't think of a response that won't cause the old woman to speculate even further about Molly. So I look back out the window with a noncommittal grunt.

"Now don't be grumpy. Hows about you give us a song?" I turn to see her motioning to my violin case. I consider refusing but realize that John is making his way over with the girlfriend. Playing will give me an excellent excuse not to talk. I give Mrs. Hudson an elaborate bow and pull the instrument out of its velvet.

I play through three songs. Staying close to the window and occasionally glancing out. Towards the middle of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" she arrives and inexplicably my mood lightens. I finish the song with a flourish and a bow acknowledging the compliments and sidestepping Mrs. Hudson's second attempt to get me to wear her antlers.

John's girlfriend approaches, offering me food in a manner that clearly indicates she thinks she is a co-host. Quite the presumption considering how quickly John runs through women. This is my flat and my party. I decide to remind her how insignificant she is to 221B Baker Street. It is rather easy, I call her the wrong name and then just run through all of John's recent girlfriends ending with:

"Who was after the boring teacher?"

"Nobody." she says sulkily, I think I have made my point. I feign a eureka moment.

"Jennette! Ah, process of elimination." I don't really see her reaction because my attention is transfixed by the arrival of Molly.

In an instant I take in everything.

Her shoes are high-heeled and ridiculously impractical in this weather, a silly choice of footwear. She is feeling "festive". Her broad smile confirms that assessment. Her make-up is heavy, lipstick a deep red. Again with the lipstick! Hair is teased high, a far departure from her regular ponytail. Her dress is black and appears low cut underneath her coat. She has dressed to impress a man. But who? Certainly no one here, Of course, her other plans. She didn't cancel anything, she is going somewhere afterwards. Probably with that lab tech. That would explain the large bags of presents she is carrying. There is no one here she would give a present too.

"Oh dear Lord." escapes involuntarily when I realize; I had a party for nothing. I feel like a fool. I damn fool that wants to kick everyone out of his flat. I turn away in anger. No one notices because they are all focused on Molly's arrival.

"Everyones saying hello to each other. Wonderful." I say sarcastically. Determined not to say hello or acknowledge her presence. I return my violin to its case. While everyone admires Molly's dress, I sit down at John's computer.

"Everyone having their Christmas drinkies then?" Molly says gaily. A retort jumps, unbidden from my mouth.

"No stopping them apparently." I allow myself a quick glance at Molly to confirm my suspicion. Her dress leaves little to the imagination, she is definitely trying to attract a man. Judging by John's "Holy Mary" and Lestrade's still gaping mouth, I would say she is succeeding. A bright red gift at the top of her bag catches my attention. It is carefully wrapped. Who is it for? Angrily I look at the screen to see John has left his ridiculous blog open.

"John" I call, eager to fight about something.

"Hm?" he comes over.

"The counter on your blog still says one-thousand eight-hundred ninety-five" John doesn't bite.

"No. Christmas is canceled." is the snarky reply. I try again.

"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat." I gesture angrily at the picture.

"People like the hat."

"No they don't! What people?" But John has already walked away and my frustration has only increased.

I pretend to be absorbed in the computer screen but I can't help listening in to the conversation.

Molly makes a spectacularly bad joke and again I find myself commenting and turning towards her.

"Don't make jokes Molly."

"No. Sorry." Molly seems chastened but not for long. She starts talking to Lestrade about his Christmas plans. How does she know so much about him? Would the gift be for him? No that's silly. It is obviously for someone special that she is seeing tonight. Someone worth dressing up for and risking a fall in high heels. Someone she is serious about, someone she feels comfortable exchanging gifts with. In short a boyfriend, the very thing I was attempting to avoid.

I hear Lestrade proclaim

"Me and the wife, back together, it's all sorted" I quickly correct his disillusion.

"No she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher." I don't look up from the screen. Maybe if I remind Molly of the follies of love she will think twice before snogging under the mistletoe with her boyfriend and running off to get married. But she seems determined to be cheerful tonight.

"And John I hear you're off to your sisters? Is that right? Sherlock was complaining." This time I don't turn my head but I can't help raising my eyebrows and look at Molly from the corner of my eye. "Just saying" she murmurs.

I hear John claiming that his sister is "off the booze" Another delusion that emotion and sentiment continue to feed.

"Nope" I say. Partly because I know she is still drinking and partly because I am disgusted.

"Shut-up Sherlock." John fires back. But I can't shut-up. I feel the need to speak. Specifically I feel the need to confront Molly about her boyfriend. To point out to everyone in the room that she is dressed up for some unknown man. That this party is just a detour before her main event of the evening.

Before I know it I am giving up the pretense of looking at the computer and the words are pushing from my mouth

"I see you've got a new boyfriend Molly, and you're serious about him." I attempt a smile. I want her to admit it or to blush or to give me some other clue to the man's identity. But she pretends to be ignorant

"What? Sorry what?" She should know better than to try and hide it from me.

"In fact you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." Still no response. John and Lestrade try to put me off but I ignore them. I am not letting her off that easy.

"Oh come on surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag. Perfectly wrapped with a bow." I stand, an idea seizing me as I look at the gift. There is a card. All I have to do is read the card to learn the mans name; I step closer. Molly half reaches for the present no doubt guessing my intent.

"It's for someone special then." I say reaching for the present. "Shade of red echoes the lipstick, either an unconscious association or one she's deliberately trying to encourage." I grip the present and smile at Molly. Remembering how she wore lipstick for that lab tech. She turns away and I turn up my bravado.

"Either way Ms. Hooper has love on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him the gift at all. Though it would suggest long term angst and over forlorn." As I talk I wave the gift and stare at the card. Trying to dislodge it so I can covertly read the inscription but it is stuck tightly in place. The only way I will be able to read it is if I pull it open. It strikes me as a rude thing to do but then so is making a man throw a party. A party that is only the precursor to what you really want to do.

"That she's seeing him tonight is evidenced by her make-up and what's she's wearing." I decide that I don't care about being rude and reach for the card. "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts-sss. As I say "breast" my eyes fall upon the card and I see "Sherlock" written. I blink and read the note in full:

"Dearest Sherlock

Love Molly xxx"

I swallow hard as I realize that the gift is for me. My brain refuses to function, all I can think are the words "dearest" and "love" and the kisses at the end. I am still staring at the note when Molly's voice comes to me as if from the bottom of a well.

"You always say such horrible things. Everytime. Always." And I know she is right. I do say horrible things. I bully people with my intellect because…because its my oldest and best weapon. I learned a long time ago that caring and showing that you care gives others weapons to use against you. Because most people are little and mean and intimidated by my brain or offended when I see through their deceptions (even their self-deceptions).

But Molly isn't most people. She is kind, patient, intelligent, and good hearted. She puts up with me and never says an unkind word, it's not in her nature. Even as she tells me that I am horrible she is half-smiling, unconsciously taking the sting out of her words. I don't deserve to associate with such a person let alone receive presents with cards that say…well I don't even want to think about it. But I do think about it and I think about my own deductions. That Molly had "love on her mind" that she dressed for her boyfriend…for me. That she bought him…me a special gift. And how I mocked her an insulted her. I feel a sudden urgency to leave the room.

I turn to leave but can't. I can't walk away without first fixing some of the damage. I turn back

"I am sorry. Forgive me." I say as sincerely as I can but it doesn't seem enough. So I step closer, closing the gap between me and Molly. She looks up from the ground, and into my eyes. I momentary forget everyone in the room, seized with the idea of kissing Molly long and lingeringly on the mouth. But as I lean in I see her stiffen and reality returns. I change course.

"Merry Christmas Molly Hooper." I say before gently kissing her cheek and ducking my head as I pull away. I have only a second to register the surprise in her eyes and to think about the pounding of my heart before.

"Uhhh" a text from Irene Adler arrives. I close my eyes, mentally cursing myself for not turning it on silent.

I cut off Molly's protests.

"It was me." I raise my hand.

"What really?" Lestrade asks incredulously, perhaps surprised that I might be capable of romantic emotion.

"My phone." I reply irritably as I reach into my jacket.

"57." John says.

"Sorry what?" I reply as I turn away to look at the message. I put down Molly's present, conscious that she may no longer want to give it to me, but I can't help keeping the card.

"57 of those texts. The ones I've heard" I glance at the message sure that it will be another of Ms. Adler's flirtations. Instead it seems to be a clue

"Mantlepiece."

"Thrilling that you've been counting." i say, a bit annoyed with John mentioning my texts in front of Molly.

I find the gift on the mantle. A small red package. Judging by it's size it is most likely her phone. Which can mean only one thing.

"Excuse me." I say as I turn to leave the room.

"What's up Sherlock?" John asks anxiously.

"I said excuse me." I repeat as I head to my bedroom.

It only takes me two minutes to confirm that it is her phone and call Mycroft to inform him that Irene Adler will soon be dead. I shut the door on John and settle down to think.

I intend to think about "the woman" and her possible reasons for giving me her phone. I contemplate going through her text messages for clues or looking through the internet for any information on her recent exploits. Instead I reach into my pocket and pull out Molly's card determined to understand the riddle of how Molly Hooper came to regard me with such affection.

It is a definitely a three patch problem, one that, I fear, I may never fully solve.

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So that's the story. Thoughts?


End file.
